


Maelstroms and Ministrations

by elldotsee



Series: Elldotsee 221b Collection [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Always1895 Johnlock Fic Prompt Challenge, Always1895 Johnlock Fic Prompt Challenge: June 2018, Boredom, Couch Cuddles, Gen, John knows exactly how to fix his favorite detective, Johnlock - Freeform, Massages, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sort Of, Stroppy Sherlock, The Science of Snuggles, Thunderstorms, Touching, doctor john to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elldotsee/pseuds/elldotsee
Summary: The storm is raging, both in and out of 221b. John has an idea, and one should never argue with their doctor. A soft little 221b fic.





	Maelstroms and Ministrations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Always1895 Johnlock Fic Prompt Challenge for June.  
> The theme is cuddling. 
> 
> This is my first 221b fic :) I love a good challenge.

The storm had been brewing for days, both throughout London and inside 221b. It appeared the criminal class preferred to stay high and dry, as they hadn’t had a case in almost a week. Sherlock was in rare form; yelling, shooting, sulking. When the first peal of thunder fizzled out, so too did John’s patience. He rose from his chair and set aside his book. 

“Sit.” John pointed at the couch. When the stroppy detective ignored him, continuing to play his violin with the sort of abuse he usually reserved for the British government, John crossed the room and laid his hand on Sherlock’s forearm. 

“It’s no use, John! I need  _ stimulation _ , or my  _ head will explode!”  _ Sherlock flounced around the room as he talked, silky dressing gown swirling around him. 

“I have an idea. Just….sit.” John helped the lanky limbs arrange comfortably on the throne of pillows he had built on the floor and settled in behind him. 

Without preamble, he set to work, rubbing circles through silky curls, massaging Sherlock’s tight scalp, and kneading his sore shoulders. After a few moments, Sherlock relaxed into his ministrations.

When the thunder quieted, and the lightning had made its final cracking impression across the night sky, Sherlock sighed deeply. 

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

John slumped. 

“That was...better.” 

  
  



End file.
